


Angel of Small Death

by bigsadenergy



Series: Run Like Hell [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Related, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsadenergy/pseuds/bigsadenergy
Summary: MacCready's life is an absolute trainwreck as it is. He's broke, his son is still sick, and the gunners are ready to fill him with bullets. Needless to say, he's got enough problems, but at least he's alive; surviving.When Simone Ripley comes crashing into his life like a deathclaw on psycho, he isn't sure if she was sent by God or the devil. Ripley isn't like anyone he's ever met. She a merciless, deadly fighter. She's one of the best merc's in the commonwealth. She's batshit crazy at the best of times. But she's also surprisingly kind and she seems to care about what happens to him, for some reason. She's both the solution to his problems and the source of new ones and sometimes he can't decide if she's worth it or not.
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Female Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Sole Survivor
Series: Run Like Hell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873156
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Someone New

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhh... hope you like it i guess. this is gonna be a mix of canon stuff and my own personal twist on the game.

_ "For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, _

_ And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; _

_ And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, _

_ And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! _

_ ― Lord Byron _

MacCready is fairly sure Winlock and Barnes will kill him when they come into the VIP room. Sure, he’s cocky and sarcastic and he’s acting confident, but he’s scared shitless. Since leaving the Gunners, he’s become increasingly aware of how vulnerable he is; how alone he is. He has to watch his own back. He has to sleep with one eye open and constantly check over his shoulder. Even in Goodneighbor, where he’s fairly sure he’s safe among friends, or friendly’s at least.

When a third person walks in, halfway through the unfriendly conversation, Mac isn’t sure if he should be terrified or grateful. She doesn’t seem to be with Winlock and Barnes. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be a Gunner at all. 

She is certainly a mercenary, however, judging by the slight bloodstains on her faded skinny jeans. Mac can just see the combat armor she’s wearing beneath her slightly too-big brown leather coat. She’s got a 10 mm pistol with a suppressor attached to her hip, a 44. on strapped to one leg and sawed-off shotgun on the other. Slung over her shoulder is a sniper rifle, which, he notes, is covered in little doodles and splashes of paint. All of her weapons are heavily modified, some of the mods, such as the scope on her rifle, look rather pricey. Others are held together with duct tape. 

She’s got a red scarf hanging around her neck, which is covered in grease and dust. A pair of road goggles hold back strands of wild, curly black hair, which is pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her face is gaunt. Dark circles hang under her hazy pale blue eyes and her cheekbones have the prominence he’s only ever seen in the underfed. 

A smirk plays across thin lips. Bold freckles dot her long nose and cheeks like stars in the sky. Her lip is cut a little on the bottom and there's an old scar across her left eyebrow. A more recent scar runs along her right cheek. It’s still pink; still healing. It couldn’t be more than a week or two old. One eye is black and blue, a bruise that's hardly a day old.

As she walks in, striding confidently and leaning against the wall, she gives a quiet whistle and a dog trots in after her. It’s a german shepherd with a spiked collar and a black bandana around its neck. It goes and sits obediently next to her. She winks at him before taking a pack of cigarettes out of her pack. Her hands are gloved with expensive-looking leather fingerless rifle gloves. She pulls a cigarette out, lighting it and smoking it leisurely. She’s in no hurry. The pip-boy on her wrist sure was interesting. A piece like that wouldn’t come easy. She’d either spent a fortune on it, killed someone for it, or scavved it from some vault.

Finally, blissfully, Winlock and Barnes leave, although not without threats that Mac is sure they’ll make good on. They’ve tracked him this far, which means they’re serious, and now they know where he’s set up shop. He’s not sure how he’ll get out of that one.

But he forces those thoughts out of his mind, at least for the moment, and puts his full attention on the woman. She’s standing perfectly still, save for moving her cigarette to her mouth to take a drag. She’s got no shakes, no signs of drug use. The look in her eyes, thankfully, isn’t crazy. Mac can’t afford crazy. It’s still not quite normal, though. She looks mischievous.

“Lady,” Mac takes a cautious step towards her. “If you’re preaching about the atom or looking for a friend, you’ve come to the wrong place. If you need a hired gun, maybe we can talk.”

She pushes herself off the wall, taking a few steps toward him, “Depends, what’s your price?” Her voice was low and a bit coarse.

“250, upfront, plus a portion of any cuts,” if she was a merc, she probably needed an extra gun for a job. “No room for negotiating.” 

She chuckled, a rusty, gravely sound. “Bit steep. Anything can be negotiated. Besides, I won’t need you for long. Week at most.”

“I said no negotiating.” She, just like everyone else, didn’t seem capable of taking him seriously. He couldn’t exactly blame them, as his scruffy goatee and young face made him look like a teenager excited to be getting facial hair for the first time, but it frustrated him nonetheless.

She grinned in response, “Alright, but you better be good.”

Mac watched her carefully as she rifled around in a pocket on the inside of her coat, hopefully looking for the caps, “I am good. Been shooting since I was a kid.”

She pulled a bag out, opening it and doing a quick, general count, before thrusting it at him. “Count them if you want, it’s all there.”

He certainly would, but not now. He took the caps, tucking them safely into his own pack. “Looks like you got yourself a gun. Name’s MacCready.” He stuck his hand out for her to shake.

She took it, gripping his hand with surprising strength for someone so small, “Ripley.”

_ Simone Ripley _ . Mac had certainly heard the name, although he made no indication of this to her. While the common person might only know her as the General, the new leader of the Minutemen, mercs like MacCready knew she was more than that. She was a merc and scavver through and through, she just happened to have a pretty good set up with the Minutemen. They would protect settlements from raiders, muties, ferals, and the like, and in exchange, they’d fly the flag. Minutemen got food, water, even caps, depending on the settlement out of it. Explained why she had such good gear, but not why she was on her own.

Mac had always imagined the General would be some hulking beast of a woman, based on the stories people told about her. The top of her head just barely reached the tip of his nose, and she didn’t seem to have a lot of meat on her bones. What she did have, though, was all muscle.

“Pleasure,” Mac smiled at her. “Where to?”

Ripley cocked her head to the side in a  _ follow-me _ gesture. She clicked her tongue and the dog, which Mac had nearly forgotten about, followed them without hesitation.

“Oh, this is Dogmeat, by the way,” she said, giving the animal a brief ear scratch when he ran up next to her.

“You named your dog Dogmeat?” Mac was unable to hold the question back. He’d heard Buster, Max, Rex, and a number of others over the years, but naming a dog Dogmeat seemed almost cruel.

Ripley laughed that same rusty laugh, “He sorta named himself. It’s uh… hard to explain.”

Mac raised his eyebrows but didn’t question further. He followed Ripley out of the Third Rail and into the burning daylight. He squinted. He’d been down there for way too long. Business had been slow as shit, especially with the stink of the Gunners following him around. Hopefully, his promised week with Ripley would get him off his feet again.

Ripley marched confidently through Goodneighbor, nodding a greeting to a few people who recognized her. Her black combat boots made a distinct sound against the concrete. He wasn’t sure exactly how to describe that sound, but he imagined he’d always hear her coming.

~

That evening, Mac found himself at Beacon Hill. Ripley had been very sure of where they were going. She had a map up on that pip-boy of hers, which she checked every so often. 

Unfortunately, the map did not account for wandering packs of super mutants, which they encountered twice. 

The first one had been from afar, and there were only three. It’d been easy enough for the pair to snipe them from the top of a wrecked bus. Ripley was actually an impressive shot, almost comparable to him.

The second group had come out of nowhere. They were too close for comfort from the very beginning. And they had at least five, plus a pair of mutant hounds.

That frantic, close-quarters combat was, apparently, where Ripley really thrived. Her reaction time had been far quicker than Mac’s. Before he even realized they were in a rough spot, she had her sawed-off to the head of a hound. The resulting explosion of gore was less than pleasant.

The rest of the fight involved a lot of running, hiding, and shooting from improvised cover. It took longer than Mac had wanted it to, but they were both unscathed, and Dogmeat seemed to have truly enjoyed the whole thing.

After all that, which honestly wasn’t a bad day in the life of a merc, Mac was a little on edge. He’d nearly shot one of the robots patrolling Beacon Hill’s courtyard. Ripley stopped him before he could, but even she looked a little suspicious.

They approached a buzzer which sat next to a door. The robots didn’t make any attempt at attacking, which was somewhat comforting, but it raised questions about who exactly they were here to meet.

Ripley pressed one thin finger against the call button.

“Go away,” came a deep voice on the other end.

Ripley rolled her eyes, “Edward Deegan asked me to come here.”

“Oh, it’s you. Let me unlock the doors.”

Mac heard a locking mechanism from behind a door, then it opened. Standing on the other side was a tall ghoul. He wore a well-cared-for set of road leathers beneath full combat armor.

“Find the place alright?” asked the ghoul.

“Yeah, it was easy enough,” Ripley replied coolly.

_ Aside from the goddamn muties _ , Mac wanted to say but thought better of it. He wasn’t exactly sure where he stood with Ripley. She was friendly enough, but they’d known each other for all of one afternoon.

“Why don’t you two have a seat,” the ghoul gestured towards a pair of couches in an adjoining room. “I’ll get Jack.”

The ghoul walked up a set of stairs, leaving MacCready and Ripley standing in a surprisingly comfortable sitting room. Everything from the furniture to the wallpaper and flooring to the clutter was in perfect condition. Mac imagined this was what things looked like before the war; all clean and pristine.

“Whoever lives here must’ve made a deal with the devil,” Mac said, offhandedly.

Ripley chuckled, looking at their surroundings while scratching Dogmeat’s head absentmindedly, “No kidding. Keep your eyes open.”

It was still another minute before the ghoul returned with whoever Jack was. Mac now understood why the boss had hired him. She seemed to have as little idea of what they were walking into as he did. He got the feeling they were being offered a job, but it could’ve been a ploy to get her here alone for one reason or another. It wasn’t unheard of. With him here, she was covering her own ass, making sure she wasn’t about to get herself into something she couldn’t get out of. She was, after all, the General of the Minutemen. That title earned her plenty of allies, but also enemies.

The ghoul came back down the stairs behind a middle-aged man in a lab coat.

“Simone Ripley,” the man, who Mac guessed was Jack, said, grinning from ear to ear. “Glad to finally meet you! And your friend is?”

“MacCready,” Mac answered flatly.

“Pleasure. I’m Jack Cabot. Welcome to Cabot house. Edward,” Jack called to the ghoul, who was lingering near the stairs. “Get our guests some drinks, will you? The good brandy!”

Mac couldn’t argue with that. Edward handed him a glass, which he happily drank. Ripley, on the other hand, seemed suspicious of the drink. Paranoia. 

“Edward finds it tiresome, but I like to personally interview everyone we hire,” Jack continued, sitting down across from them. “I have one question for you. I like to ask all of our new hires.”

“Shoot,” Ripley said before taking a small sip of her drink.

“Do you believe there is other intelligent life in the universe?”

_ Shoot, he’s a nut. Aliens? Really? _

Without missing a beat, Ripley replied, “I’m not sure if there’s  _ any _ intelligent life in the universe. At least, not on this planet.”

Mac snorted, nearly choking on his final sip of brandy. Even Edward and Jack chuckled a bit.

“You make a fair point…” Jack started rambling about something. 

Mac allowed himself to zone out instead of paying attention. Ripley actually appeared to be listening. He wasn’t sure if she really was, or if she was just pretending to care. If she was just pretending, she was a damn good actress.

Finally, Jack seemed to tire himself out. Mac could almost see the muscles in Ripley’s face relax. She was, albeit secretly, relieved. Jack went back upstairs, leaving them to discuss the details with Edward.

“So the average rate is about 100 caps per job,” Edward began.

Mac wasn’t surprised. It was a pretty baseline rate. Mac guessed Ripley would give him 25, plus a little of any scav profits.

“Edward,” Ripley sounded amused. “That’s weak. There’s two of us here, and you and I both know I’m worth more than that.”

It was bold, bitchy, and kind of arrogant. Just who did she think she was? Mac was shocked at how forward she was. Sure, it was a low rate, but it could be worse. 

“I’ve got a dozen other people to pay, alright,” Deegan defended himself. “Besides, it’s steady work.”

“Steady work for dirt. Get one of your dozen other mercs to do it, I can get steady work that pays twice that, easily.” Ripley stood up, whistling for Dogmeat. 

“Ripley, wait,” Deegan called. “Fine, I can offer you 200, but that's it.”

Suddenly, Mac understood what she was doing. She’d had a read on Edward from the beginning. She knew exactly where to apply pressure to get what she wanted out of him. It was a skill Mac had never really acquired. Most people didn’t take him seriously. But Ripley, with her scars, beat-up face, and plethora of weapons? She was a difficult sort of person to not take seriously.

She stopped short in her tracks, still playing the whole thing up a bit. “Sure, that works. Tell me what you need.”

Edward sighed, “There was a shipment between here and Parsons Asylum that got ambushed by some raiders. Don’t let the name scare you, it’s just a secure building we’re using. I need you to track it down and get it back.”

“Can do, boss,” Ripley said, smiling, although it was a hollow one. “Any idea where I should start looking?”

“Yeah, talk to Maria up at Parsons. And be careful, don’t get killed on your first job.”

Edward escorted them out of the building, which kind of pissed MacCready off. They had all this stuff, and they couldn’t offer them a bed for one night? It was past nine. The sun had set and the winter chill had long since set in.

“We’re gonna need to find somewhere sheltered for the night,” Ripley pulled her scarf tighter against her neck. “I think it might rain.

Mac looked up at the sky. Thick dark clouds blocked the moon and stars, blanketing the world in blackness. 

“Assholes could’ve offered us a bed or two for the night,” Mac muttered.

“Yeah, they could have, but I don’t think I want to stay a night in there. Place gives me the creeps.” She started walking in no particular direction.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” Mac followed her, pulling his own coat closer to him. He hated winter. Too damn cold all the time. “So, do you still need me around, considering the job is legit and not just someone trying to get you?”

“Huh,” she smirked. “Hancock said you were quick. I promised you a week, so if you want to stay, I’ll pay you fair.”

He might as well. Sticking with Ripley was sure to leave him with a few good stories at the very least, plus some extra caps, which he could certainly use.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I’m in.”

“Great!” She smiled. “Let’s find a place to camp before it rains.”

They ended up in an old laundromat. Rows of machines filled the dark room, which gave critters a lot of places to hide. But once they’d cleared it of a few radroaches, it was about as safe and dry as the Commonwealth offered. There was only one entrance, which they pushed a few machines in front of. Just to be safe, Ripley placed three frag mines around the entrance. No one on the outside could get in without triggering at least one of them.

Then, they made a small fire. There was enough air rushing in and out of their shelter that Mac hoped smoke wouldn’t be too much of an issue.

They settled down near the fire, bedrolls set up on opposite sides. Mac set about cooking while Ripley sat with her back against the wall, cleaning her guns. She’d shed her jacket and combat armor chest piece, leaving her in a flannel shirt with a t-shirt under it. Without the giant coat and the power armor to enlarge her frame, she looked rather small. Her reputation really painted her so big, but the General was truly just a small woman with wild hair and enough charisma to convince people to follow her. It was comforting to Mac to know that even the big, important people were still people.

Ripley ran out of guns to clean before Mac finished the stew he was making. She sighed, fingers moving anxiously. Mac watched her get up, search all the washing machines for scrap, sit back down, get up, organize her pack, give up on that, sit back down, get back up, pace around.

“You alright, boss?” Mac raised his eyebrows at her.

Her head snapped towards him, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Uh, yeah. Just can’t sit still, don’t like just sitting.”

“Food’s almost ready,” Mac said, hoping she’d sit down. All her moving was making him anxious, although he had no intention of telling her that.

She sighed and sat back down, slipping a notebook and worn pencil out of her pack. Quietly, she worked on something in it, biting her lip as she concentrated.

Mac checked the stew and, satisfied, dished it into bowls. Ripley gratefully accepted the meal and sat next to him by the fire as she wolfed it down.

Mac ate his slowly, eyeing her as she barely paused to breathe. How long had it been since her last meal, he wondered. The way she was inhaling it made him worry it had been a long time. It must be part of the reason she was so thin. Malnourishment was common, nowadays, but surely someone as powerful as she had enough resources at her disposal to stay well fed.

“Is there any more of this left?” she piped up after a few minutes. “It’s really good, best food I’ve had in a long time.”

“Yeah, take as much as you want, boss,” Mac smiled a little, proud he’d impressed her. “When was the last time you had a real meal?”

She shrugged, “Too goddamn long. I hardly have time to sit and cook something, and I’ve hardly spent any time in settlements lately. It’s been snacks on the road for a while.” She poured the remainder of the stew into her bowl and continued to chow down.

“What’s got you so busy you can’t eat?”

She laughed, “Ah what doesn’t. Settlements having trouble with ferals? Send Ripley. Water purifiers broken? Ripley can fix it. Seems every time there’s a damn problem, I’m the one they call. This is the first lull in the work I’ve had in a while, and I intend to make some caps and shoot some dicks.”

“Your idea of a vacation is taking mercenary jobs?”

“I mean, the Minutemen are mercenaries, technically. We get paid to save people's asses. In addition to caps, we also get access to fresh food and pure water from all the settlements under our flag. Plus, I have the fun perk of being able to say I’m the General and people will give me a bed for the night.”

It made sense. The Minutemen were a little too good-doer-y for him, but Ripley had a point. There were definitely some perks.

“How’d you end up saddled with all that anyway?” Mac asked. “I mean, you’re a good fighter and charismatic as hell, but you seem more like a scavver and a merc than the leader of a militia.”

“I got lucky, I guess. Or unlucky, depending on how I feel like looking at it. Helped a guy out with some stuff and he offered me the position. Led the attack on the Castle, and suddenly half the Commonwealth is calling me General. How quickly did you have me figured out?”

Mac shrugged, placing his empty bowl next to him, “Right away, pretty much. You said your name, and I’d heard it a few times before.”

Ripley smirked, “I’m not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that so many people know of me.”

Mac would hate it. He hated it when people talked about him. He didn’t like people knowing shit. It made him nervous. “Bit of both, probably. The question is why you needed me. If you just wanted to be sure it wasn’t a trap, you have dozens of people at your disposal, why waste the caps on a merc?”

Ripley wolfed down the last of her stew before answering, “Well, your cooking is a definite plus. I just need a break, a vacation I guess. All that shit gets old after a while.”

Mac chuckled. Of course, Mac’s idea of hard work was her idea of a vacation. She didn’t strike him as someone who could just sit and do nothing for a week. Hell, she couldn’t sit still for ten minutes.

Ripley insisted on cleaning up, since he cooked. She washed their dishes with a bit of water and soap, placing all of the items back in her pack. Mac retired to his bedroll, cleaning his own weapon. Once that was done, he took off his hat, coat, and boots, settling down to get as much sleep as he could.

She was doing something in her notebook again. Then she was on her pip-boy, playing a holotape of some kind. Mac could hear a man's voice, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to make out what it said. Not that he wanted to know, of course. Ripley was just another boss who’d move on in a week. He didn’t need to know anything about her personal life.

~

Ripley was up and moving when Mac woke up. It was early, not even six. She already had coffee and breakfast going and was humming quietly to herself.

“How the fu- heck do you do that?” Mac muttered through his sleepy haze.

She turned her head towards him, smiling. “Do what?”

“Get up so friggin early?”

She shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, “Used to it I guess. Internal clock’s just wired that way.”

Mac wasn’t sure what the fuck an internal clock was, but she said it with enough confidence that he was satisfied. He figured he could expect weird answers from a person like Ripley.

Whatever she made for breakfast, it wasn’t great. Sure, it was edible, but barely. Mac didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to offend her.

Then she took a bite, tasting it for herself. She grimaced, muttering apologies, but suffered through it for a bit before feeding the rest to Dogmeat, who didn’t much care how it tasted. Can’t be too picky, Mac decided, and ate the rest of it as fast as he could. No wonder she was so skinny. Her cooking was truly terrible.

They packed up and got moving pretty quickly. Dogmeat found a teddy bear in their first five minutes on the road and brought it to Mac. He took it, examining the rather sad looking stuffed animal. Dogmeat whined at him.

“He wants you to throw it,” Ripley glanced back, smiling.

Mac did so, watching the dog chase the toy at full speed. He wasn’t quite fast enough to catch it, but he picked it up and came running back, begging for Mac to throw it again. He did. Again. And again. And again.

It was pretty fun, surprisingly. Mac wondered if he should go ahead and get a dog of his own, once his week with the boss was up. Dogmeat was a good pup, and pretty well-trained. He imagined it was nice to have some company on the road, even if it was canine. Maybe that was the key to his crushing loneliness.

The road to Parsons was mostly uneventful. A super mutant ambush here, a couple of raiders there. Nothing he and the boss couldn’t handle fairly easily.

Ripley wasn’t overly chatty, which was nice. Mac wasn’t sure what they would even talk about. It was nice that they could be silent without it being awkward. When they did talk, it was mostly comments on the world around them.  _ Those last raiders were easy pickings, that's an awfully weird-looking radstag, that house looks like it might actually be sturdy enough to sleep in _ , that sort of thing.

Dogmeat didn’t seem to tire himself out at any point. The dog must have been fairly young. He had a lot of energy. Occasionally he would bring Mac or Ripley a random object. Other times, he would bark at something, indicating he wanted to check it out. The pup had a damn good nose, too. He could smell raiders or muties coming and let them know so they were prepared.

They made it to the asylum just before nightfall. The moment MacCready saw it looming in the distance, he wanted to turn around and walk the other direction. The big, dark building looked ominous in the receding sunlight. 

They approached, both gripping sniper rifles. A number of guards, some of whom Mac might’ve recognized as gunners, although he wasn’t completely sure, were patrolling. They were on high alert, understandable if they just had a raider attack, and they regarded the approaching duo with suspicion.

“Your business here?” One tall man demanded when they reached the gate.

Ripley looked him up and down, taking in his gun and combat armor. “Deegan sent us. We’re looking for the stolen shipment. Any idea where Maria is?”

The guy cocked his head to the side and started walking. They followed closely.

“Maria,” he shouted at a woman near the entrance. “Looks like Deegan sent some people for the shipment. They wanna talk to you.”

Maria was a smaller, sturdy woman. Graying black hair was tied up in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her lips were a deep set, endlessly displeased looking line, her eyes narrow and hard. 

“What d’ya need to know?” Her voice was absolutely toneless.

“Deegan said we should talk to you, that you might have some idea of where these raiders are holed up?”

“Yeah, I know exactly where they are: the old Parsons creamery, to the north.”

“Oh, alright,” Ripley seemed surprised by the sure answer. “That’s awfully close. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I know it’s close, that’s what’s worrying me,” Maria, for the first time, looked like she had an emotion. Her thin lips turned downwards, creases forming on her forehead. “Not like raiders to stick so close. Normally, they take what they can get and move out quick. I’ll be glad when you take care of them.”

“Well, thanks for the tip.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

Ripley and Mac left the premises as quickly as they could. Ripley made a beeline for the hill overlooking the place and didn’t slow down until the building was completely obscured by it.

“That place was creepy as fuck,” Ripley muttered. “Don’t trust that shit at all.”

Mac laughed. “Same here, boss.”


	2. Bullets and Religion

_ I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use. _

_ -Galileo Galilei _

Ripley and MacCready made quick work of the raiders. They’d snuck in, the darkness and the raiders inattention making it fairly easy. They were already inside, guns ready, by the time the raiders realized they were under attack. 

There were four of them. The first three were easy. Ripley took one of them out before he could grab his gun and Mac caught one of them in the head as he tried to come down the stairs. The third had leaped over the upper floor railing, landing in front of Mac. Fortunately, Mac’s reaction time was fast. He bonked him in the face with the butt of his gun before putting it against his chest and pulling the trigger. The poor man's guts exploded.

Mac turned around to see Ripley. She was pushed up against the wall by the last raider, who was holding a pool stick horizontally against Ripley’s throat. She was fighting for air as she pushed back against the other, unusually strong woman. 

Mac fired, panicking. It wasn’t his best shot, but he hit his mark, mostly. The bullet clipped the woman's shoulder, which would have sent most people howling to the floor in pain. This one, however, grunted and winced, not letting up. 

Mac aimed for her head, pulling the trigger. Finally, the woman collapsed to the ground.

Ripley, airwaves finally free, breathed in hard, shakily sliding to the ground. 

“Christ,” she gasped after a few moments of tense silence.

“Are you okay?” Mac finally forced words off his tongue.

Ripley nodded, “I’m fine. Bitch was really strong. What the fuck kind of person takes a bullet and doesn’t stop trying to strangle someone?”

She bent down and started going through the dead woman's pockets. Mac did the same. They pulled any valuable scrap from the corpses, looking for anything they could sell off easily at the next town. 

“Aha,” Ripley cried triumphantly. She was holding some kind of syringe, grinning.

“What is it?” Mac stepped over, inspecting it. It didn’t look like much.

“Our missing shipment, I believe.” She shoved it into her pocket. “Or, at least, what’s left of it. Looks like some kind of drug. Whatever it is, I’d wager these junkies were willing to try it out. Might explain some things.”

“I mean, I know buffout makes you stronger and stuff, but I’ve never heard of a drug that can do  _ that _ .” He gestured at the corpse of the woman who’d tried to strangle Ripley. “Besides, Cabot didn’t strike me as a chem cooker.”

“Yeah, well I got the feeling that Cabot and Deegan weren’t being completely straight with us, either. Something’s going on here, that’s for sure.”

“What now?” Mac asked. He was referring to their most immediate plans. He was hungry and tired, and Ripley looked like she was about to drop.

She studied their surroundings, “I suppose this is the best shelter we’re gonna get so far north. Not much else around. If we bar the doors and place some mines, I bet it’ll be safe for us both to get some rest.”

“God, I was hoping you’d say that,” Mac set his pack down against a wall. 

Ripley grinned in response, setting her own pack down and setting about securing the place.

Mac cooked up some old Salisbury Steaks on the fire that the raiders had already started. They ate in silence, save for Dogmeat's occasional whining and the faint music playing from Ripley’s pip-boy.

Ripley fell asleep first, her breathing eventually slowing and changing into soft snores. Dogmeat curled up beside her, placing his head on her chest. She looked almost human like this. During the day and in a fight, Simone Ripley didn’t seem human. She was armor covered, weapon-wielding, and merciless. Her eyes shined with ferocity and she didn’t ever waiver. But here, asleep in her sleeping back, snoring with her dog by her side, she could have been anyone. 

~

Sunlight filtered through cracks in the roof at just the right angle to hit Mac’s face. He sat up, blearily rubbing his eyes. Ripley was awake, although she seemed to have just woken as well. She was sitting up in her sleeping bag, yawning.

Mac glanced at her pip-boy, which was sitting between them, flashing the time. It was just after six in the morning. He was surprised he had woken up so early, but perhaps a stray beam of sunlight will do that.

“Morning,” Ripley said sleepily, the rasp in her voice a bit more pronounced. 

Mac nodded, not yet awake enough to speak. The only sound he made was a slight grunt as he tried to flatten his bed head. Good thing he usually wore a hat.

Ripley got up, rolling her sleeping bag up and re-igniting the fire. 

“Need to find me one of those fancy portable coffee percolators,” she muttered as she got a little fire going again. It’d be enough to heat up a little something for breakfast.

“A what?” Mac glanced at her, eyebrow raised.

“Coffee percolator,” she repeated. “You know, to make coffee on the go. There are some that you can just put over the fire and it heats it up real nice. Hard to find though. Man, I’d kill for a hot cup of coffee right now.”

“If you didn’t get up so early, maybe you wouldn’t need coffee,” mumbled, finally rising from his own sleeping back.

“Watch it,” she said, and Mac got nervous that he’d crossed a line for a moment, then he looked at her and saw the amusement in her face. “Besides, you’re already up, too.”

“Yeah, but I blame that on the beam of sunlight that just had to hit me right in the face.”

Ripley shrugged, pulling a box of Yum Yum’s Deviled Eggs out of her pack and getting them ready. Mac was glad she wasn’t trying to cook breakfast from scratch again. He still wasn’t sure what it was she’d cooked yesterday, but it hadn’t been good.

Once they ate, they set off towards Beacon Hill. The route was mostly clear on the way back, since they’d already come through. They encountered a mole rat and a few raiders, but that was it. Mac continued to play catch with Dogmeat on the way. He liked the dog a lot. He really would have to get one of his own when he had the caps to spare.

Ripley was a little more talkative today, which Mac didn’t particularly mind. He actually kind of liked her. She was sarcastic, full of wry humor and shitty puns that made Mac cringe as he chuckled. She had an easy way of speaking. No matter who she was talking to, Mac, Deegan, Maria, or Cabot, she had an air of confidence and charm that set people at ease and made it hard to not like her. She was damn good in a fight, too. Deadly aim, even in high stress situations, was surprisingly hard to come by in the Commonwealth. Sure, most schmucks could hit a target most of the time, but Mac had yet to see her miss a shot. 

Mac himself was pretty handy with a sniper rifle, but give him another kind of gun and he was only adequate. Ripley seemed to be well acquainted with any sort of weapon you could give her. She had skills with a sniper rifle that  _ almost _ matched Mac’s, but she was just as proficient, if not more, with a pistol or a shotgun.

When they reached Beacon Hill, the late afternoon light was already casting long shadows across the ruins of the city. When Ripley hit the button to buzz them in, the door immediately opened. Deegan was standing on the other side, apparently waiting for them.

“How’d it go?” He asked, leading them further inside.

Jack was having some sort of argument with an older woman in the living room, but Ripley didn’t seem at all concerned by that.

“Took care of those raiders,” Ripley said casually. “And got this.”

She drew the syringe out of a pocket inside the inner lining of her jacket and handed it to Deegan.

“This all there was?” Deegan took it, looking at her expectantly.

“Whatever else there was, I’m pretty sure they used it. That’s all we found.“

“Well, good job taking care of them and getting this back. I’m at liberty to give you a bonus for this,” he wiggled the syringe as he picked up a bag of caps that was sitting on a nearby table. “300 caps.”

“Damn,” Ripley grinned. It was a pretty sum, and Mac felt like going to that creepy asylum warranted it.

“She’s your sister!” The older woman’s shrill voice cut into any conversation about the next job. 

Before Jack could respond, Deegan put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll send someone after Emogene, alright?”

“Thank you, Edward,” she seemed to relax instantly. “Jack, why can’t you be more like Edward.”

Jack rolled his eyes and stalked upstairs as Deegan came back towards them.

“Need any help with that?” Ripley smiled sheepishly.

Deegan chuckled, “Yeah. Emogene is Jack’s sister. She has a habit of running off, usually with some boyfriend. I’d pay you well if you bring her back from whatever it is she’s doing now.”

“Sure, where should I start?”

“I know she likes to drink at the Third Rail in Goodneighbor. Maybe you can start there.”

“Ah, yeah, I know the place. Alright, no problem.” She turns to MacCready and cocks her head sharply to the side, motioning for him to follow.

Once again, Mac is glad to be leaving Beacon Hill behind. Everything about the Cabots and their asylum gives him an uneasy feeling in his gut, which the boss seems to be feeling as well.

“Here,” she held out a smaller pouch that clinked with the caps inside. She’d been counting the caps, dividing their shares. 

Mac had expected about 75, that was 25%, which was his usual rate, maybe 100 tops. When he opened it and looked inside, there were certainly more than 75 caps in there.

“Half,” Ripley said, noting the surprise on his face. “You and I did an equal amount of work, so we should get equal pay.”

“Boss, I-,” Mac stuttered, unsure how to respond to this unexpected kindness. “Thank you.”

He had never been hired by someone willing to split evenly with him. That just wasn’t how merc life went. But Ripley wasn’t your average merc, as he was quickly beginning to understand.

“Course,” she says as if it’s just small potatoes. “I gotta say, I’m pleased to be heading towards Goodneighbor. I didn’t think we’d get a chance to unload our scav for a couple more days.”

“A bed and a roof over our heads doesn’t hurt either,” Mac didn’t mind sleeping on the road, but he preferred a mattress to the ground.

Ripley grinned, “God, I would die for a real bed right now. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t sleep on the ground.”

“Careful saying shit like that, boss. One day, you might have to.”

“Die for a real bed? There are worse things to die for, I guess.” She was laughing, which made Mac laugh.

Her laugh was strange and endearing, and very contagious. Like her voice, it was low and raspy, almost like a creaky floorboard. But something about it paired with that smile of hers, the slightly lopsided grin that spread across her narrow mouth, made Mac feel like the sun was coming out for the first time in months. He liked seeing her smile and laugh, if only because it was a break from her bad case of resting-bitch-face, which wasn’t a bad thing for a merc but certainly off-putting.

It was dark when they got to Goodneighbor, but neither of them had wanted to stop somewhere, especially after all their talk about real beds. They headed straight for the Third Rail. Mac was happy enough to take a seat at the bar and let Ripley do the talking. She was better at it than he was.

“Ey, Charlie,” she said after he’d served them a couple of beers. “I was hoping you could help me out with something.”

If a robot could raise its eyebrows, Mac was sure Whitechapel Charlie would have.

“Yeah?”

“Was there a woman named Emogene hanging around here at any point? Her family has hired me to find her.”

“Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about. Kind of Barmy?” Charlie said. “Magnolia! This one's asking about Emogene!”

Magnolia, who had just finished a song, stepped off her stage and walked over.

“Emogene? What do you need to know about her?” Magnolia’s voice was low, like Ripley’s, but not raspy. Magnolia was smooth in a way that a woman like Ripley could never be. She was soft curves and sweet music where Ripley was sharp edges and the sound of gunshots.

“Her family's hired me to find her. Any idea where she’s gone?”

“Ah, I’m glad  _ somebody’s  _ looking out for her. She seems like the kind of body that could use looking after.” Magnolia gave Ripley a little friendly smirk. “Last I know, she headed off somewhere with that preacher fella. He was real intense. Some women go crazy for that. Ham!”

The ghoul bouncer, Ham, came running down. He was obviously expecting to find a bar fight or someone harassing Magnolia, and he looked puzzled when he saw everyone sitting calmly at the bar.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing. Do you know where that preacher fella went? The one that left with Emogene?”

“Brother Thomas?” Ham asked. “Yeah, he came in here, harassing customers, handing out his cult flyers. I kept one of them, in case he didn’t pay his bar tab.”

“Here, give it to her. She’s looking for Emogene.”

Ham handed the flyer to Ripley, who took it and examined it carefully.

“ _ Pillars of the community _ ,” she chuckled. “Well, it’s got a location. Thank you.”

“Of course, honey,” Magnolia purred. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Ripley seemed a bit caught off guard, but she recovered almost instantly. “Actually,”

They proceeded to start flirting. Mac wasn’t exactly surprised. Magnolia was very flirty, although few people could actually get past the coy banter. Mac finished his drink and ordered another one, determined not to listen to the conversation. He’d feel like an intruder if he did. 

“You  _ are _ a special one,” Magnolia was saying. “Let me get my coat, darling.”

Mac raised his eyebrows at Ripley as she started to get up, sliding a few caps across the counter to Charlie. 

“I’ll be at the Rex in the morning,” she said softly before going and helping Magnolia into her coat. The pair left the bar, arm in arm.

“She seems like quite a character,” Charlie said off-handedly.

Mac was not quite over his surprise and didn’t respond right away. “You don’t know the half of it.”

MacCready had seen dozens of men and women try their luck with Magnolia, and who could blame them. She was gorgeous and charming, but she rarely took the bait. Hell, even Mac had flirted with her a few times, but he never got further than that, and he knew she was at least somewhat fond of him.

Saying Ripley was a character was putting it mildly. Two and a half days with her, and he already felt like he had been around the world and back.

~

Ripley was exactly where she said she’d be that morning. MacCready had a few more drinks before he went to bed. He’d woken early again; early enough to take a bath and wash all the grime from a couple of days on the road off. He had a shave and a chance to change into some clean clothes. He felt human again.

After he got packed up, he went down the hall, headed for the room Claire had told him Ripley had rented.

“Awfully loud, those two,” Claire said with a disapproving glare in Mac’s direction, as if he was the cause of the ruckus.

He felt his cheeks heat up a bit. The last thing he wanted to think about was what his boss and Magnolia had been up to last night.

He found the room and raised his fist to knock, but his fist never made contact with the wood of the door. Just as he was about to, it opened. Magnolia stood on the other side, looking just as surprised as Mac to see someone standing there. Her hair was still damp and she wasn’t wearing makeup, just the dress from the previous night and her coat.

“Sorry, hun,” she said before slipping by him.

Mac, unsure of how to act, squinted into the room, searching for the boss. She was sitting on the bed, propped up against a wall, cigarette between her teeth and a Grognak comic in hand.

“Mornin’,” She said, voice muffled by the cigarette. “Come on in.”

Mac closed the door behind him. He assumed she was decent since she invited him in, but he couldn’t actually see her clearly in the dim light. The curtains were drawn shut, only a little morning light drifting in, and the lamp in the corner didn’t cast much light on the bed.

“Sleep well?” He asked, teasing a bit.

“ _ Very, _ ” she grinned, closing the comic book and scooting off the bed. When she came closer to the light, Mac could see she was already mostly dressed. She was wearing a clean white t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans that had significantly less blood on them than the last pair. Her boots sat next to the bed along with her armor, her pack and jacket were hung on a hook by the door.

Mac started to blush again, turning his face away. Ripley’s hair was also slightly damp. As soon as Mac took note of it, he wished he hadn’t. He still didn’t want to think about it. Sure, Ripley was pretty, in her own bizarre way, but she was his boss. He forbade himself to think of an employer that way.

“You gonna see Magnolia again?” Mac asked, out of genuine curiosity.

“Nah,” Ripley said nonchalantly. “We had fun, but she’s ‘married to the stage’, and my lifestyle isn’t really conducive for a long term relationship anyway.”

She snatched her boots and armor and started to get ready to go. 

“So this Brother Thomas guy is holed up at Charles View Amphitheater. It’s not far. If we get moving, we should make it by noon.”

“You think Emogene is gonna be there?” Mac asked, settling himself on the couch while he waited for her to get all her gear on.

“I hope so. If not, hopefully someone there can point us in the right direction.” Ripley put out her cigarette in the ashtray. “We should sell off our scav before we go, though. Don’t need to carry that shit unless we have to.”

Once Ripley was set and they’d divided their findings so they each had scrap of similar value, they set off for the market. Mac went to KL-E-O and Ripley to Daisy. 

As soon as he started bartering with the assaultron, however, he immediately wished he’d gone to Daisy. KL-E-O was hard to talk down and Mac knew Daisy pretty well. He was convinced Ripley could talk a beggar out of his last cap at this point. She probably would have had an easy time with KL-E-O. 

Once he and KL-E-O had reached a somewhat satisfactory compromise, he left her shop feeling pretty good about himself. Ripley was sitting on a bench outside, as if to prove how much better at bartering she was, already halfway through another cigarette.

“How’d you do?” She asked, then took a long drag.

“Alright, I guess,” Mac already felt a little bit embarrassed, but he was trying to play it off as grumpiness. If she saw through him, and he suspected she did, she said nothing. “KL-E-O can be a hardass.”

“Just as well,” Ripley shrugged. “Pretty sure your pile was worth a bit more anyway.”

She had undoubtedly done that on purpose. Mac had no idea why, but it didn’t seem like Ripley did much by accident.

They headed out right after that. They ate a bit of jerky on the road. Ripley was keen to find Emogene and get paid and MacCready was just keen to get paid.

He had no intention of mentioning it to Ripley, but Mac was counting the days until his promised week was over. He wasn’t doing it because he wanted to get rid of the boss. He actually wasn’t particularly ready to say goodbye. It wasn’t just because she paid nicely, either. Her insistence on splitting pay equally was definitely a bonus, but it only added to the reasons why he was starting to like her.

In three days, three out of seven promised ones, he had felt safer than he had in years. Ripley was friendly, charming, and vicious. It was nice to know she was there watching his back, and he hoped she appreciated him watching hers. 

Additionally, he hadn’t realized how lonely he was until he wasn’t anymore. It was just nice having someone around. It wasn’t like they had a particularly close relationship, but they didn’t need one. It was just nice to have someone to make small talk with, to joke with, even just to walk in companionable silence with.

It helped that Ripley was hard not to like. She was friendly and charming and her humor matched his well.

Charles View Amphitheater should have been home to raiders. It was smack in the middle of raider territory. Instead, there was a cult. Mac wasn’t sure which was worse.

When they walked in, everyone eyed them suspiciously but made no move to stop them. They were armed to the teeth, but it was pretty obvious that they weren’t raiders.

“What can I do for you fine folks?” A man, who had been up on the stage, hopped down and approached them. He was dressed in an impressively clean suit and hat. He had a young face, a mustache and goatee, and a tone and easy, sleazy manner that made Mac roll his eyes without even thinking about it.

Ripley wasn’t smiling. Evidently she was playing the hardass this time around. “Are you Brother Thomas?”

“Why yes, yes I am!” He grinned, but clearly Ripley’s hard, angry face was chipping at his confidence. “Are you interested in joining the pillars of the community?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ripley said without a trace of emotion. “I’m looking for Emogene Cabot. I was told she might be here.”

Most of the color drained from Brother Thomas’ face, “Uh… Emogene is a bit indisposed at the moment. She’s not taking visitors.”

“That's too bad,” Ripley’s tone had turned condescending. “‘Cause we’re not leaving until we speak to her.”

“Who are you to make such demands?” He was starting to get pissed.

“Friend of the family,” Ripley says, allowing her annoyance to drip into her voice. Her grip tightened on her sawed-off, and Brother Thomas definitely noticed.

He tensed up, “Emogene and I had a bit of a… lovers quarrel. She’s not coming out of her room until she apologizes.”

“Like I said, I’m not leaving without her.” 

Finally, he relented, “Fine. Here’s the key. Take her and don’t come back.”

Ripley took the key from him, shooting him another piercing glare before setting off in the direction he pointed. Mac followed close behind, trying to look menacing.

Ripley went into the first room, some kind of office. She swiped a couple of packs of cigarettes off the desk and into her pocket before she unlocked the bedroom door. Mac smirked.

They went inside the room. Emogene did not look anything like Mac had pictured her. With all this talk of a flighty, love-stricken girl, he’d expected someone young; no more than twenty. He’d expected someone pretty, wearing a flowy dress and fancy shoes, like her mother. 

Emogene was older, perhaps almost fifty. Her hair was nearly white and she wore a clean button-down and slacks. 

“Emogene?” Ripley seemed surprised too.

“Yeah?” Her tone was snotty, but she probably assumed they were more Pillars of the Community.

Ripley quickly hid a scowl. “Edward Deegan asked me to find you.”

“Oh, you’re one of his. Well, thanks for getting me out of here. Can you believe he thought he could lock  _ me  _ up like some insubordinate child?”

“Alright, well Beacon Hill isn’t far from here-” Ripley began, but Emogene interrupted her.

“Oh, I’m not going home with you. I’m gonna get a drink first. You can tell mother I’ll be along shortly.”

Ripley raised her eyebrows, but, to Mac’s relief, didn’t protest. Neither of them fancied traveling anywhere with her. She wasn’t particularly nice.

“Alright, well, be careful.” Ripley stalked out of the room. 

Once they were safely out of earshot, Mac started to laugh.

“What’s so funny, wise guy?” She looked at him.

“The whole family’s nuts,” he chuckled and she started giggling too.

“Yeah, yeah they really are. Christ, I really have a way of getting in over my head,” Ripley shook her head in amusement. “And those Pillars of the Community? Sheesh. Didn’t think assholes like that were really still around.”

“I don’t think crazy religious folk are ever gonna die out,” Mac laughed. “Not one for faith?”

“Faith?” Ripley let out a chuckle that didn’t give a feeling of amusement as much as exasperation. “I don’t know if faith is the right word. The only thing I’ve really got faith in is my guns, and even those can fail me sometimes.”

Mac raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

Ripley sighed, “I believe in what I can see and touch, I guess. I believe that if I take care of my guns, they’ll take care of me in a pinch. I believe that if you treat people with kindness, they’ll return it. Same with hostility. I believe that the world is a pretty fucked place and we’re all just trying to survive. I don’t know if you can call that faith.”

“No, I wouldn’t say it is.” Mac shrugged. “Helluva way of looking at things, though.”

“Yeah, well I tried the whole religion thing. I was raised to believe that if we’re faithful to Him, God will reward us, but God’s never done jack shit for me. The only thing I know for sure I can rely on is myself. That’s just how it is.”

Mac didn’t really know what to say. She was right, of course. It made sense. Mac didn’t really follow any religion either. Children of Atom made him antsy, and organized religion had always seemed sort of cultish to him. But part of him had always wondered if there was something out there. He didn’t have much space to think about it, though. His mind was usually occupied by more pressing issues.

“Sorry,” she said after a few moments of silence.

Mac looked up, “Why?”

“I didn’t mean for that to sound so fucking bitchy,” she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

“No, it didn’t,” Mac stuttered, unsure how to convey that he wasn’t offended. “I just didn’t know what to say. I don’t disagree with you.”

She seemed relieved and beamed back at him. “Good. I wouldn’t want to damage our working relationship.”

They spent most of the walk back to Beacon hill in companionable silence. Dogmeat brought Mac a box of ammo he found somewhere and he rewarded the pup with a bit of jerky. The dog gratefully accepted and Mac pretended not to notice the smile Ripley gave him.

It was a hint of the smile she reserved for moments of actual joy. In three days of travel, Mac had already seen the difference between her genuine smile and the smile she put on to charm people. Whatever it was, it was in the eyes more than on her lips. He couldn’t really explain it, but Ripley smiled with her eyes when she really smiled.


	3. Angel

_ “Nothing ever ends poetically. It just ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.” _

-Kait Rokowski

When they get to Beacon Hill, the door is already unlocked. Immediately, both of them are on edge. If nothing else, the Cabots take security pretty seriously. Ripley grabs her pistol --the one with the silencer-- and slowly nudges the door open. Mac followed, feeling more anxious than perhaps he ought to.

They both relaxed when they saw Jack and his mother in the living room, crowded around a table. Jack was speaking urgently into a ham radio.

She approached slowly. Deegans voice, static though it was, was emitting from the ham radio, along with the sound of gunshots. Jack seemed panicked. Something was very wrong.

“There’s been an attack at Parsons,” Jack said when he saw them. He said it matter-of-factly, but there was still a quaver in his voice. “We need to go there now, stop them from getting into the basement.”

“What’s in the basement?” Ripley automatically said, although they both knew that Jack and Deegan were generally the don’t-ask-don’t-tell sort.

“My father. About 400 years ago, he found an artifact at an archeological dig site. It attached itself to him and gave him abilities, but also drove him mad. He’s at Parsons. I’ve spent my life trying to figure out how to remove it.”

“400 years? Christ, that makes you-” Mac started.

“Pre-war.” Ripley’s voice was even. She didn’t seem nearly as bewildered by it as Mac was.

“Yes,” Jack was addressing Ripley calmly. “That’s where the serum you recovered came from. It’s been keeping my family and I young.”

It explained Emogene’s appearance, and the general oddness of the family.

“Uh, Emogene is safe, by the way,” Ripley said, although she looked far away, clearly deep in thought.

“Oh, good. I suppose I should pay you.” He started looking around in drawers before he found a bag of caps. “Edward usually handles these things, I hope that’s the right amount.”

Mac needed only to look at the bag to know it was not the right amount. There were a lot more than 200 caps in there, that was for sure. Ripley seemed aware of this too, judging by the smirk she was now wearing, but she made no attempt at correcting him.

“Now, we need to hurry to Parsons. I can’t fight my way in there alone, I need you two. You’re good guns, or so Edward tells me.”

“Well, what are we waiting for,” Ripley grinned. 

She was itching for a fight, and Mac was surprised to find that so was he. He didn’t really fancy going back to Parsons, but he was more than willing to shoot down some raiders.

Jack sets a pace that has them damn near jogging the whole damn way. By the time they’re halfway there, it’s already well past dark, which makes Mac nervous. He can tell the boss is on edge too. She doesn’t have her guns out just yet, but her hands fly to her sawed-off every time there's a noise that didn’t come from the trio. She’s chewing on her lips too. She stops when her bottom lip starts to bleed, lighting up a smoke to keep herself distracted. 

But they’ve already been through the route twice now, so don’t encounter anything more difficult than a stray bloatfly.

Right then, Mac understands why some people are scared of her. In reality, she’s just a five-foot-three girl with a bit of muscle but not much other meat on her bones, but sometimes she just seems big. The armor and the oversized coat, plus the slightly too-loose clothes make her seem bigger than she is and her boats add an inch or two to her height. She’s got guns for every occasion too. Any sensible person would be nervous around someone who carries as many weapons as she does.

But it's the scowl on her face that makes Mac the most nervous. She’s got dark circles, a black eye, and scars on her face. But her expression, especially after seeing what she looks like when she’s genuinely laughing or smiling, is deeply unsettling. She’s focused on the task at hand with a deadly intensity. He can’t tell if she’s just pissed about missing out on a nights sleep and trekking through the Commonwealth after dark or if she genuinely gives a shit about what's going on here. It could potentially be a bit of both.

Mac is pretty sure he doesn’t care that much if Parsons goes down and he wouldn’t be shocked if Ripley could empty the whole place on her own. All the things Jack is saying about Lorenzo worry him, but they also sound too much like a supervillain origin story for him to take it too seriously.

If he wanted to cut his losses and take off, he know he could just say so and the boss wouldn’t question it, just give him his share with a  _ Good luck out there! _ But he was already dreading saying goodbye to her at the end of the week and he had no intention of cutting it short.

So here he is, running off on a fool’s errand that he never would’ve considered if Ripley hadn’t been his boss.

When they get there, it’s definitely creepier than he remembers. Part of it is the fact that the sun has long since set and the moon is casting an eerie glow over the place. The bodies, both raider and merc, are scattered everywhere and that’s what solidifies the place on Mac’s list of top-ten things he has nightmares about, right around slot five or six.

He has half a mind to ask the boss for his cut and go, but he doesn’t. He isn’t sure why, but he stays.

Jack makes some offhand comment about following his orders, which Mac can tell Ripley has no intention of following if she thinks there’s a good reason to ignore him, but Jack has to know that. Ripley might be one of a kind, but she’s still the same sort of person Jack already hires.

They go in. Mac has read comic books that deal with creepy asylums, but none of them do the real thing justice. They still haven't encountered anyone living; the whole place is silent. 

“Are the hairs on the back of my neck supposed to be standing up like this?” Mac whispers to Ripley.

She gives him a small smirk.  _ Good, _ Mac thinks, with some relief. She’s not so tense that she can’t recognize a joke.

Jack’s office door is locked, which is inconvenient because it means they’ll have to go the long way. Once they do that, it doesn’t take long for them to meet the raiders that attacked. They’ve pretty much infested the whole place.

Mac thinks back to his time in the gunners. These raiders, and there were a fucking lot of them, took the whole place easily. None of the original guards are alive. And the boss is going in with him and Jack, and Jack isn’t really what Mac would consider a capable gun. In the gunners, they wouldn’t pull something like this without a full team. It was absolutely batshit. 

He couldn’t find a cure for Duncan if he was dead. A sensible person would get out and get out now but all of Mac’s sense seemed to have left him and he continued to follow Ripley into a firestorm of bullets. 

The first room had some kind of glass ceiling two floors up, and raiders were shooting at them from above. 

Mac found cover and started sniping the targets that were up high. It would’ve been easier if they stopped moving so much, but he was nothing if not a good shot. 

Boss made it easier. She went running in with reckless abandon. The good news was it drew their fire; bad news was Mac was sure she was going to be hit. She was fast, but more than that, she was lucky. It was harder to hit a moving target and Ripley never seemed to stop moving. She zig-zagged around, taking potshots with her 44. revolver as she went. Whenever she had to reload she ducked behind something. There was plenty of cover in the room, and Mac wasn’t having a difficult time covering her. He had the guys up top-down in the first ten seconds.

Even though there were a lot, they’d taken them by surprise and gotten the upper hand. The whole thing was over in less than two minutes. The other raiders in the building would be expecting them, though. They’d made a lot of noise.

The trio moved through the building at more or less the same pace, which is to say they threw themselves in headfirst like they had nothing to lose. Maybe Ripley didn’t have anything to lose.

It was harder to cover her in the other rooms. They weren’t as wide open as the first. A couple places got a little dicey and he guessed that Ripley could tell he was a bit antsy because she gave him her 10mm for the closer quarters. He still preferred to be as far removed from the action as he could, but he was pleased with the sights on the gun.

They ate through the raiders like fucking acid. Mac had never seen anything like it in his life. Sure, he was helping, but Ripley was a monster. She wasn’t getting tired, wasn’t stopping. She just tore through room after room. Her lack of planning seemed to actually work in her favor. The enemy can’t predict what you’re gonna do if you don’t know what you’re gonna do.

Ripley had instincts going for her, that was for sure. Instincts and muscle memory. She just adapted to the way the battle changed like a pro, always reacting in what seemed to be the right way.

As they got closer, they encountered more of those raiders who had taken that damn serum. They were trickier to take out because bullets that didn’t kill them didn’t slow them down either. They were strong as fuck, too.

Ripley changed tactics instantly. At one point, she tossed a grenade into the next room and slammed the door shut so none could escape. It was brutal, but it worked.

With the berserker raiders, she fought dirty. Whatever she had to do, cripple, maim, etcetera, just to slow them down. Mac aimed carefully for killing blows and nearly always hit his mark, even when he was using the pistol.

When they got to the basement (apparently not the basement where Lorenzo was, much to Mac’s chagrin), Deegan was sitting, propped up against a wall, bleeding badly. Jack knelt down, immediately fussing over him.

Ripley was examining the room, covertly swiping little bits of valuable junk. They’d left their packs upstairs, so Mac wasn’t entirely sure where some of it was actually going. Still, he liked that she wasn’t afraid to take what she needed. Need might’ve been a strong word, but still.

They got moving again fairly quickly, leaving Deegan with the best their combined knowledge of medicine could do. Jack was fairly competent, unsurprisingly, but wasn’t used to working with such little supply. Ripley and Mac, however, shared a bit of experience dealing with field injuries. Deegan would live, but they’d have to leave him here to get the rest of the building taken care of.

They take an elevator down, which plunges them further into raider chaos. The boss doesn’t slow down at all. Mac barely has a minute to catch his breath.

Fortunately, they don’t have to fight for very much longer before they reach their goal. Unfortunately, the raiders have already gotten past most of the defenses between Lorenzo and the rest of the world. 

There’s a maze of security doors that eventually lead into a main chamber and inside of that is a big, glass cage.

Lorenzo sort of looks like Jack, which makes sense because Mac has gathered from the bits of conversation that he did listen that Lorenzo is Jack's dad. He’s wearing a suit and he has…  _ something _ on his head. He realizes somewhat belatedly that it must be the artifact.

“I’m going to have to stay here and open the security doors one at a time. You guys have to stop the raiders from getting to Lorenzo.”

Ripley doesn’t hesitate. They go to the first one and Jack opens it. Then it closes, leaving Mac with a momentary feeling of panic before the next one opens. They make their way through like that, and it only takes them a couple of minutes.

There aren’t any raiders to contend with, which makes Mac antsy because he’s watching them through bulletproof glass and they’re definitely getting ready for them.

Then things go just slightly wrong. One door opens barely long enough for the boss to slip through, but closes before Mac can follow. They’re obscured from Jack’s view, so he probably doesn't know his mistake yet.

Mac can’t see through the metal door so he loses sight of Ripley until she launches herself into the main chamber, guns blazing. She must have taken the raiders by surprise because none of them immediately reacted to the ballsy tactic.

She’s put bullets between the eyes of two of them before it erupts into total chaos. Ripley is darting around like a bat on jet, so far unscathed, but Mac knows it only takes one bullet. She was one against three, and those aren’t great odds at the best of times. Mac can only watch, his anxiety through the roof.

But, after another thirty seconds, the last raider hits the ground and Ripley only has a few new bruises.

Lorenzo was talking, trying to convince Ripley to let him out, and Mac can see the hesitation in her eyes. The choice, in Mac’s mind, is obvious. Crazy and creepy as Jack might be, Lorenzo is a threat and Mac would sleep better at night knowing he was neutralized. 

She makes eye contact with Mac for the briefest of moments before she springs into action, following Jacks orders and flipping all the levers. Once she’s done, the only indication of the radiation inside the cage is the slight click-click from Ripley’s pip-boy Geiger counter. Lorenzo collapses and then it's over.

Mac releases a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. The doors start to open again and Ripley makes her way back to him, patting him on the shoulder when she reaches him.

Now that they can relax, he can see how tired she is. He doesn’t know what time it is, but they definitely need sleep. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s fucking exhausted.

The remainder of their time at Parsons is spent talking to Jack; a conversation which doesn’t last long and mostly involves Ripley trying to assure Jack that they did the right thing. Once that’s done, they leave.

Mac has half a mind to suggest staying back and scavving the place, but they’re both dead tired and want to put Parsons behind them as fast as possible. The march in silence, and it only takes about fifteen minutes to get where Ripley had in mind.

They come upon the wrecked swimming pool and are immediately met with a ghoul holding a shotgun in their general direction.

“Who are you?” He’s obviously the night guard, or whatever. Mac still doesn’t know what time it is, but it's certainly well past respectable hours.

“We aren’t looking for trouble,” Ripley says, holding her hands up. “We’re with the Minutemen, so if there’s business to talk, we can talk in the morning. We’ve had a really long night and this is the closest friendly spot for miles. We just want to rest our heads.”

“Minutemen, eh?” The man looks at them. Mac is well aware that they don’t look like Minutemen, but they don’t look like raiders either. “Alright, we’ll talk business tomorrow. We have a couple of empty beds. I’ll show you where.”

And just like that, they had a place to stay for the night. Mac didn’t ask questions, but he kept his rifle close when he settled down on the mattress he’d been offered. Ripley was only a foot away on her own mattress. She slid off her boots, armor, and coat, but she put her 44. Under the pillow just in case.

“Mac?” She said hoarsely as he was taking off his own coat.

“Yeah?” 

She looks like she’s trying to figure out what she actually wanted to say, and settles on, “Sleep as late as you need. I’m not expecting us to be able to get an early start tomorrow.”

Mac suspects she was thinking something else when she first said his name, but he doesn’t push it. “Roger that boss. Sleep well.”

“You too.” She turns over, and Mac lays himself down.

Her curly hair is loose now, flowing over her shoulder. Dogmeat jumps up on her mattress and settles down in the curve of her belly. The pup puts his head on her hip for a moment, looking at Mac. 

“Goodnight, pup,” Mac says affectionately, before he closes his eyes and drops immediately into sleep.

~

When he wakes up, the boss is gone. Dogmeat has moved from her bed to the foot of his. The pup isn’t asleep, just watching him. Maybe he was waiting for Mac to get up, guarding him in away.

When Mac yawns, stretches, and opens his eyes, the dog comes over and licks his face. Mac pulls back but rubs his ears.

“G’morning,” he says to the dog. Dogmeat responds by nuzzling his face.

The next thing Mac allows himself to think about is his rumbling stomach. They ate a brief dinner on the road yesterday, before they got back to Cabot house and the chaos started. That was the last time he ate, and it had to be late morning. He was ravenous.

“Hey hotshot,” Ripley is standing in the doorway, looking freshly scrubbed and wearing a clean set of clothes. Dogmeat bounds over to her, whimpering softly.

He smiles sleepily at her. “Hey. What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” she chuckles. “Hungry.”

“Very.”

“Good. They cooked for us. I haven’t eaten yet.”

After he gets his boots on, she leads him outside where foods set on a small table that looks like it was dragged there recently. Mac doesn’t question it, just digs in. Ripley sits next to him, chowing down too.

It's a full five minutes before either of them say anything. When the silence is broken, it’s Ripley launching into a spiel about the settlement they’re in.

“This is the Slog,” she says, mouth partially full. “They’re a tarberry farm. Pretty genius actually. It's out of an old swimming pool. The whole place is run by ghouls. Anyway, they’re having some problems with a local group of muties, but they’ve agreed to fly the flag if I, or someone else from the Minutemen, takes care of it.”

“So, that's your next stop?” Mac asks. He doesn’t want to assume he’ll be going with. The job she originally hired him for is now completely over.  _ Crashed and friggin burned _ , he thinks. She said a week, and this is the fourth day, but still. He doesn't actually know where he stands.

“Mac,” she says, having actually finished her bite before she speaks. Something in the way she says his name reminds him of last night, the way she said his name because there was something she wanted to say but didn’t. “I know I said a week, tops, but uh…” she gulps and Mac thinks this is it. She’s gonna cut him loose. He doesn’t want to part ways just yet, if only because the caps are good and not having to look over his shoulder constantly is better. “I was hoping you’d be willing to stay on a little longer.”

He pauses chewing, but doesn’t say anything. He’s surprised. He’d been agonizing over worst-case scenarios and here she is, asking him to stick with her.

Ripley, apparently, reads his silence as something other than relief because she starts rambling a bit. “I know you’ve got your own shit to deal with, so I get it if you want to go take care of that. I’d keep paying you, if you stuck around. Half of the pay from jobs and half the scav--I just figured, we make a hell of a team.”

“Yeah, we really do,” Mac says, finally finding the words. “I’d like that, yeah.”

If she’d been smiling at him before, she absolutely fucking beams, fucking glows, at him now. He likes seeing her smile a fuck ton. It’s just a really good smile, the type that could light up the darkest of rooms.

They just sit there for a minute, grinning at each other like idiots before she finally speaks again. “I figure we can stay here again tonight, worry about the muties tomorrow. We need a good long rest after Parsons.”

“No complaints here,” Mac says before shoveling the rest of his food into his mouth.

They spend the rest of the morning dividing caps and the small amount of scrap they picked up at Parsons, which is mostly shit Ripley had piled into her pockets. It was comedic, to say the least, to watch her pull an absurd amount of items from all the pockets in her coat. They were laughing so hard that Mac’s chest hurt.

In the afternoon, Ripley disappeared to help one of the residents with some mechanical issue. Mac entertained himself by playing fetch with Dogmeat for a while, after he cleans his gun. When he got bored, he went and found Ripley, who was happily tinkering with a generator. Her hands and face were streaked with oil, the white shirt she’d been wearing completely ruined. He’d brought her 10mm, which she’d lent him at Parsons and he’d forgotten to return it.

“Keep it,” she said, without missing a beat. “I was planning on selling it soon anyway. Could save your life in a pinch.”

Mac was grateful. He shouldn’t have been surprised by her kindness, but he still was. He just wasn’t used to people being nice to him

That night, they eat another home-cooked meal, which they wolf down with as much ferocity as breakfast, and then they wash it down with a bottle of whiskey once they are on their own.

As they finish the bottle, they exchange a few stories from their days in the wastes.

“So I go up to the roof where the crashed vertibird is, and there’s actually a suit of power armor. I couldn’t believe it was still there, completely untouched.” Ripley was in the middle of telling a somewhat improbable story about taking down some raiders  _ and  _ a deathclaw when Mac was hit with a realization: this was the first time in months he’d actually let his guard down and just enjoyed himself.

He’d had days off in the past. Hell, there’d been plenty, given business had been pretty fucking slow, but he’d never been able to just relax.

Mac went to bed that night feeling better than he had in a long time. Dogmeat, instead of nestling next to his master, settled between their beds.


	4. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Ripley find trouble in some nearby settlements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, hey, hey! i'm back on my fallout train. hopefully i'll be able to stick to it for a bit

_ Men have followed women into hell in plays and poems. Someone understands. _

_ -Neil Gaiman _

The next two weeks pass in a blur of action, adventure, and a lot of bullets. 

The second morning at the Slog starts with Ripley nudging MacCready awake at the crack of dawn. He was rested after their adventure, or misadventure, at Parsons, but that didn’t make Ripley’s habit of getting up early any less annoying. 

Most of the settlers weren’t up yet, which Mac pointed out wryly, earning himself a playful kick. 

They ate a quick breakfast and had a bit of coffee before they set out to take care of some mutants. 

They find the place just before noon, and Mac almost regrets his decision to stick with Ripley for a minute. It isn’t the biggest mutant hole he’s ever seen, but, back with the gunners, he’d never even consider taking the place without at least four guns. The boss seemed to intend for them to do it, just the two of them.

And they did. It wasn’t easy, although Ripley made it look like it was. 

Breakheart Banks was probably once a thriving farm, but it was completely overrun with super mutants now. They advanced on the first building, a small structure that had perhaps once been some sort of lookout but was now just a convenient spot for them to snipe the muties in the main building. 

It was guarded by one mutant, but MacCready made quick work of it with the suppressed 10mm pistol Ripley had given him. None of the others heard or noticed their fallen comrade, so Ripley and Mac set up their rifles quickly. They took out the first three mutants before they figured out where the bullets were coming from, then Ripley told him to cover her and darted across the field towards them.

It had all happened so fast that Mac hardly had a chance to process it. Ripley went tearing through the building with her shotgun and a few grenades. With Mac covering her, the mutants didn’t stand a chance.

Afterward, Ripley comes up to him covered in blood and guts, but, judging by the proud grin on her face, none of it is hers. Mac is relieved that she’s alright because he has a mini-heart attack every time she runs into danger like that.

They go back to the Slog, their packs full of scrap and food that Ripley insisted they bring to the settlement. After an animated conversation with Wiseman, the leader, apparently, Ripley returns to Mac muttering absentmindedly about caravans and supply lines. Mac can’t make much sense of it, so he continues feeding Dogmeat bits of jerky.

Before Mac has a chance to catch his breath, they’re off again. They’re headed for someplace called Finch Farm, which would’ve been a straight shot south from the slog, except for the Saugus Ironworks conveniently placed right in between and very full of flamer-wielding raiders. Instead, they skirt around. Mac half expected Ripley to go barrelling right through, but he’s grateful that she doesn’t. He’s not so keen on getting burnt to a crisp.

The sun has just about vanished over the horizon when they get to Finch Farm, and the residents are happy enough to let the pair set up their bedrolls around back. It’s not as safe as Goodneighbor or the Slog or any of the enclosed camps they’ve been finding, but it's better than being completely out in the open.

“You want first or second watch?” Ripley asks as he works on the small fire.

Mac usually prefers the first watch, but she's the boss here so he decides it's not his choice. “Up to you, boss.”

“You take first,” she says, without a second thought. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I get up early, anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

Mac doesn’t question her. He decides he’ll never really understand her. 

The Finches make dinner, which they’re happy to share with their guests. They eat, eager to have more good meals that don't involve dried meat. 

Ripley stays up for a little while after they eat. She cleans her guns until she runs out of guns to clean, then she pulls out her notebook and starts to write or draw, Mac isn’t sure which. He takes care of his own weapons and checks his ammo stores, making sure he has enough. Turns out, he is risking getting burnt to a crisp tomorrow, it’s the fire obsessed raiders the Finches want cleared out.

They talk softly, exchanging stories that are noticeably devoid of personal details. Not that he minds, of course. He’s got his fair share of secrets and he’s not exactly eager for his new boss to know them. A woman like Ripley is bound to have a few skeletons in the closet herself. She didn’t become General of the Minutemen by being meek and she didn’t earn the caps to buy herself that fancy combat armor by being nice. Hell, she probably had to fight like hell for that pip-boy of hers.

He’s got to admire her a bit, though. She must be some kind of closet genius because she’s obviously modified her guns, but, aside from being duct-taped and doodled on, they’re about as good as it gets in the Commonwealth. The recon scope on her sniper rifle is a piece Mac would kill for. The only gun that isn’t heavily modified is the .44 revolver. He can’t help but wonder if that means something or not, perhaps some sort of sentimental value, but he stifles the thought before it gets too far. He doesn’t need to know. 

That's how this works. When you work with someone, or for them, it's all about learning their little quirks without getting too far out of the need-to-know range. He knows that Ripley can be reckless, so he knows to keep an eye on her and cover her when she charges. He knows she generally puts the lives of others in front of her own, so he knows to avoid putting them in a situation like that in the first place. He doesn’t need to know why she is the way she is; that won’t help them in a pinch. In fact, it’s probably worse for their working relationship to know personal details or get too attached. Any kind of tension between them might mean the difference between life and death in an extreme scenario. 

As far as getting attached, well, Mac knows he shouldn’t. Either one of them could get shot at any time, that’s just how it is. And he doesn’t know how long he’ll be working for her. He’s got his own shit to deal with, and he has to deal with it eventually. 

Ripley goes to sleep around ten, and Mac relaxes a bit. It’s hard to feel comfortable when he knows that she’s observing his every move, even if she isn’t trying to. 

He listens to the sound of her breathing and the Finches moving around inside the barn. This is better than watching his back in Goodneighbor, never knowing when he’s gonna get a bullet. This is a hell of a lot better. There’s no way in hell the Gunners will find him all the way out here, following around the General of the Minutemen of all people.

He wakes her up around two. Ripley yawns and crawls out of her bedroll, giving him a sleepy, lopsided grin. He crawls into his own bedroll and falls asleep immediately.

~

She lets him sleep in and he’s grateful for it. They eat a bit of jerky for breakfast and head for the Ironworks.

The Ironworks is even worse than the mutants. The place is full of raiders and most of them are armed with flamers and molotov cocktails. Unfortunately, there are a lot of guards outside so they’re typical  _ snipe until you can’t anymore _ doesn’t work because it takes one of them all of two shots to figure out where Mac and Ripley are. After that, all hell breaks loose.

Mac keeps ducking behind rocks and things, trying to get them to lose track of him then hits them as hard as he can until they find him again. It’s working great except that they just keep coming. There are so many of them and he’s starting to panic a bit because he’s lost Ripley in the chaos.

Finally, he hits the last of the outside guard. The rest are inside, hiding out and getting ready for them; no chance of a surprise attack now.

He finds Ripley looting a few of the corpses. She’s covered in ash and her hair is a little singed but otherwise, she’s just fine. 

There weren’t many left after that. They blazed through easily. The majority of the crew was holed up in a room that had a big pot of some sort melted metal, probably iron considering it was the Ironworks.

Jake, the Finch kid who’d run away to join a raider gang, is obviously having second thoughts. Who can blame him? Mac isn’t particularly squeamish himself but raiders, especially these raiders, take gore to another level.

This is right about where everything goes wrong. 

Ripley is trying to convince the kid to leave the gang and being particularly snotty to the boss while she’s at it. It’s pretty obvious his rifle is going to be next to useless in these close quarters so he’s clutching that pistol, ready for the violence to hit because it’s going to any time now.

Before Ripley has even finished speaking, one of the raiders takes a flying leap at her. Mac sees it, lifting the pistol and firing, but the bullet flies a little too high. It grazes the arm of another raider but the first one successfully gets to Ripley.

Mac doesn’t have time to help her, though. Bullets have already started flying and he has to take cover behind one of the metal beams. It’s not nearly wide enough for him but it's blocking his vitals from getting hit so it works.

He’s actually doing pretty damn well for himself. He’s not necessarily getting kill shots, but that's not easy in this kind of absolute chaos. Still, most of his shots hit  _ something _ and that something is fleshy enough that it bleeds and falls over when hit.

He catches a glimpse of Ripley, who had thrown her original attacker into the pot of molten iron and was now, somehow, in an even more precarious situation. She was tangoing with the boss himself. If anyone could do it, it sure as hell was Ripley but it still scared the hell out of him.

The boss had power armor and even without it, he had quite a bit of size on her. 

She had her shotgun and the power armor was looking pretty fucked, but it was holding up enough that he was still alive.

Mac almost thought Ripley was going to get a headshot, but her opponent took her by surprise, faking left with the flaming sword he had then grabbing her arm roughly with his right hand. He shoved her against the wall and brought the sword down for a killing blow.

Panic. Mac is well known for keeping his cool, but if he ever had a cool, he lost it right then. All good sense and logic be damned, Mac breaks from his cover and sprints, shooting as he goes, towards her. 

The element of surprise is the only thing that saves either of them this time. No one, not even Mac, is expecting such a bold move. The sudden shower of bullets pulls the boss's attention away from Ripley just long enough for her to bring the shotgun to his head and pull the trigger. It’s a goddamn gory mess, but thank fuck it’s over.

Jake, somehow, is still breathing and relatively unharmed. Mac doesn’t give a shit though. 

A million cuss words fill his head but they all fall flat on his tongue. “Ripley, are you good?”

She’s sitting now, not far from where she was nearly killed, breathing heaving. She nods but Mac still goes over to her anyway, examining her for injuries.

That raider got too fucking close. The blood is coming mostly from the area around her collar bone. He’d probably been going for her neck but Mac had distracted him.

The cut itself isn’t as bad as Mac initially thought. It wasn’t very deep, although fairly long. The burn wounds around it weren’t too bad either, although Mac didn’t envy them at all.

“Am I gonna live, doc?” She says, a wry smile on her face. He can hear the pain in her voice though.

He chuckles softly, “Yeah, you’ll live. Need to patch this up, though. Hold still.”

He pulls a stimpack and bandages out of his pack and sets about wiping it clean. He stims her up and reaches for a med-x syringe, for the pain, when one shaky hand pushes his away. He gives her a questioning look.

“No chems,” she says. Her voice is hoarse but he can’t deny the ferocity in it, or perhaps its just desperation.

“Boss, this is only gonna hurt worse,” he says but the look on her face doesn’t change.

“No chems, Mac. Please.”

He can’t argue too much with that. He bandages her up and helps her to her feet.

They don’t bother too much with the scavenging. They’re all too eager to get out, Jake especially. Mac is glad Finch Farm is close.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jake stops in his tracks just before they get there. “Not after what I did.”

Mac is frustrated. He’s sore, tired, and hungry. That whole thing was just too fucking close, way too fucking close. He just wants to take Jake home and get on with it. 

He turns to Ripley. She’s the smooth talker. She can convince the kid to go and then they can get on with it. 

Her face isn’t what he expected. He didn’t really anticipate her being mean to the kid. He expected friendliness, sympathy, that sort of thing, even if it was false. He did not expect the look of genuine sadness in her eyes.

“Not going back is worse, kid,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take it from a fellow runaway.”

Jake looks up at her, eyes wide. “You were a runaway.”

“Yeah, I left home loads of times. But I always went back. World’s a big, scary fucking place. Family is precious and if there's a chance, you gotta fight for it.”

Jake’s face hardens with what Mac thinks is considerable effort. 

The kid's family is understandably pissed at him, but at the end of it all, they welcome him, the Finches agree to fly the flag, Mac and Ripley get paid, and they leave.

It's midafternoon and they’ve been walking in silence. Ripley clearly has a destination in mind but she hasn’t told Mac yet. He wants to ask questions about everything that just happened; the chems, the running away. But how can he? If she wanted to tell him, she would. Besides, they’ve barely known each other a whole week.

“Just ask,” she says finally. “I know you want to.”

Mac sighs, “It doesn’t really surprise me that you were a runaway.”

She squints at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you didn’t grow up easy,” he puts his hands up at her slightly accusatory tone. “Hell, no one really does, but still. I’m just curious, though. Did you really mean that? That not going back is worse?”

She laughs but it's completely humorless. “I don’t really know. For him, it probably is. He ran away because he was scared but his family loves him so going back is okay.”

“But it wasn’t like that for you?”

“I ran away because I was scared, yeah, but I went back because I was scared too. I guess that's part of what makes me different from Jake. For him, going back wasn’t an act of fear. I always ended up wishing I hadn’t gone back, and then one day, I didn’t. One day I left, and I never went back.”

Mac can tell sharing time is over. She goes silent, focusing on her pip-boy map. That tidbit of information is all he’s getting, probably for a considerable amount of time. It might be all he gets, ever. He isn’t sure if he’s glad she told him or not. It was an answer in the way one answers a question with another question, which is to say that it gave him more vague impressions than any real, clear, tangible answer.

He wouldn’t pry, though. Asking for more means that he has to be willing to offer up some of himself in return, and he really isn’t willing. He doesn’t need the boss to know who he is beyond a trustworthy gun, and he doesn’t need to know anything that won’t directly affect them. Besides, getting close to someone only makes it harder when they inevitably part ways or one of them ends up dead. He learned that lesson and he didn’t intend to learn it again.

~

They make it to another settlement that evening. It's called Greentop Nursery and one of the farmers there just happens to have medical training. Before they eat dinner, the farmer takes a look at Ripley’s wound, complimenting Macs field medicine. He feels that warm glow of pride, especially when he catches her eye. She looks proud too.

They both get a full night's sleep which Mac is grateful for. In the morning, they take off for some raider base that's been giving the settlement trouble.

The whole thing goes off without a hitch, surprisingly. Mac is suspicious at first. It just seems too easy. But they do the job and walk out without a scratch, their packs full of scrap.

They only make it about halfway back to Greentop before it gets dark so they make camp and settle in for the night. Mac makes dinner and Ripley sits down with a screwdriver and starts taking apart some of the bulkier junk, stripping things like telephones and cameras for their more essential parts like springs, screws, and gears. 

She’s been pretty quiet over the past few days. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but it still leaves Mac wondering. He thinks about it and remembers that silence between them is not necessarily an odd thing. They spend plenty of time on the road in silence. It just feels charged right now, perhaps because of the slight revelation about her past.

Once she’s done, she takes out a notebook and begins to work on something in it. Mac wants to ask what she’s doing but he doesn’t.

“Want first watch?” She asks, her voice soft, her eyes far away. 

Mac shrugs. “Up to you, boss.”

She squints at him. “I won’t be offended if you ask for something you want or even just say you’d prefer something.”

“Oh, okay,” Mac says, unsure of himself all of a sudden. “Then yeah, I’ll take first watch, if you don’t mind.”

She was smiling, really smiling. It was the smile that stretched all the way to her eyes. “I don’t mind at all, Mac.”

When she goes to sleep, that smile still lingers in his mind, against his will. It reminds him of Lucy’s smile, and maybe that's why it’s hurting him so much. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on the world around them and listens to the soft sounds of her breathing.


	5. Smooth Talker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ripley finds a guitar and Mac gets paid.

_ “We met less than a week ago and in that time I've done nothing but lie and cheat and betray you. I know. But if you give me a chance...all I want is to protect you. To be near you. For as long as I'm able.” _

_ ― Marissa Meyer, Scarlet _

Being back in Goodneighbor is almost unwelcome. MacCready and Ripley were on the road together for almost two weeks, sticking to smaller, Minuteman affiliated settlements as opposed to larger towns. But they can’t avoid places like Goodneighbor forever and even Ripley’s nightly tinkering couldn’t compress the amount of scav they were carrying. They’d encountered a few traveling caravans but not enough to empty their packs in any significant way. Besides, Goodneighbor is a good place to find mercenary gigs. 

Ripley and Mac split up, agreeing to meet at the Third Rail in a little bit. Mac takes his full pack to Daisy to sell. 

As much as he likes being on the road with Ripley, it is nice to have sturdy walls between them and danger and some friendly faces around. Daisy greets him with a happy smile and a “How ya doin’ today, MacCready?”

“Not too bad, Daisy. How about yourself?” He says, grinning back and beginning to unload his pack. 

“Well, I can't complain too much, although somehow I still manage to,” she says and they both chuckle. “Say, I hear you’re running with that Ripley character these days. That true?”

“Yep, she hired me a few weeks ago.”

“She pay well?”

“Real well,” Mac grins again, remembering his shock when she agreed to split loot and pay fifty-fifty. 

“What’s she like, anyway? She’s making a name for herself out here.”

“She’s… uh,”  _ pretty, reckless, funny, odd?  _ Mac struggles with his words. He can’t think of a good way to describe his boss, she’s just the boss. “She’s a character.”

“So I hear,” Daisy gives him a little lopsided smirk before they get down to business. 

Mac leaves, wondering what Daisy was getting at. He’s known Daisy for a while now, probably longer than anyone else in the Commonwealth, and she knows him pretty well.

He swings by KLEO’s, too, and manages to get a little more money out of her this time. He stocks up on some ammo while he’s there then heads to the Third Rail.

Unsurprisingly, Ripley is already there and already half-way through a beer. She’s chatting up Whitechapel Charlie, probably trying to weasel information out of him, and if a robot could look unamused, he definitely does. Mac slides into the seat next to her and she flashes him a smile.

“Want a drink?” She asks. She looks like she’s in a good mood, so she probably got good deals on scav.

“You paying?” Mac raises an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk.

She laughs loudly and it makes it harder for Mac to not smile. “Walked right into that, didn’t I? Sure, hotshot, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Mac doesn’t know why, but he feels heat creep across his cheeks. He ignores it and orders a beer, watching her slide Charlie a few caps. He takes a hardy sip and allows himself to relax a little.

“So,” Charlie begins, his accent clashing strangely with his artificial voice, as always, “Now that you and MacCready here are all liquored up, I have a little proposition for you two.”

Ripley takes another sip of her beer and raises her eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“There seems to be a bit of a rat problem in the warehouses here in town. Someone wants it taken care of. Can you two make that happen?”

“I don’t take jobs unless I know who’s footing the bill,” Ripley says with so much nonchalance that Mac is surprised yet again. He almost envies her easy confidence and swagger. It’s like she doesn’t care at all.

Charlie lets out a slightly annoyed puff. “Fine. It’s no secret who I represent. Hancock wants the warehouses cleared. Internal power struggle, you understand?”

“Sure I do,” she leans forward, setting her bottle down. “How much is the mayor willing to pay for such a thing?”

“200 caps, once the job is done of course.”

Ripley laughs without humor. “That's it? I thought Hancock had access to more funds than that.”

“Keep your voice down,” Charlie hisses. “Fine, 300 caps.”

“Charlie,” Ripley says sweetly, “If you’re not going to put  _ real  _ money on the table, MacCready and I are going to have to walk.”

Mac admires her grit and her skill. She could talk a beggar out of his last cap if she so chose. 

If a robot could look annoyed, Whitechapel Charlie would be the most annoyed looking robot on the planet. “400 caps, but that's the final offer. And you only get paid after the job is done. Deal?”

“Deal.” 

Ripley looks enormously pleased with herself as they exit the smoky bar. Mac can’t exactly blame her. He’s never gotten much out of Charlie before. That robot can be a hell of a hardass. Ripley was good, she was really good. 

“How do you do that?” He asks on their way out.

“Do what?” The look on her face doesn’t tell him if she’s messing with him or if she genuinely doesn’t understand what he means.

He sighs a little. “Negotiate like that? You just get exactly what you want out of everyone and it doesn’t seem like you try all that hard.”

Her eyes look far away for the briefest of moments, then she’s back to being the normal, careless Ripley. “Just grew up rough. Had to fight for every scrap I had. I was a small kid, so fist fights and such weren’t my strong suit. Learned to talk my way in and out of situations.”

“Huh,” Mac hums. 

“What?”

“It’s just… not exactly the response I expected I guess.”

Ripley raises an eyebrow at him. “What did you expect?”

“With you, it’s usually some improbable story or the vaguest answer possible. There’s no in between.”

She laughs softly, “Yeah, I suppose I have a habit of doing that.” Mac doesn’t expect her to say anything else, but she does. “Just practice. If you do something enough times, it gets easy. It becomes a habit. You don’t even have to think about it. I grew up having to manipulate people into giving me whatever it is I wanted out of them, so now, I dunno, it’s like a second language I speak without even thinking about it.”

“You didn’t negotiate with me. You probably could have, easily, but you didn’t. Why?” She had said everything could be negotiated the day they met, but she had taken his price without even an attempt at talking him down.

“Sometimes you gotta know when to stop. Sometimes you gotta know who to stop for. You seemed like something worth stopping for, I guess.”

It’s not necessarily a flirtation, not really even praise, but Mac feels the blood rush to his cheeks and he becomes overly aware of his quick breathing and his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He turns away so she won’t see him so flushed. 

They get to the first warehouse before Mac can think of a good response. Ripley instructs him to keep watch, since they are technically trespassing, then she kneels down and begins working at the lock. It opens in a few seconds with a soft click. Mac is impressed, yet again, by her skills. Apparently, there isn’t a single thing she isn’t good at, aside from cooking.

They enter, shutting the door silently behind them. At first, they don’t see anyone. The lighting is dim enough that it takes a minute to adjust.

Ripley silently points to one man tinkering with something at a work table, then she points to herself, indicating that she’s got it. Mac nods his understanding and hangs back as she approaches him silently. 

Mac isn’t sure what he expected, but her grabbing him from behind and cutting his throat with a knife he hadn’t even noticed she had, well, that wasn’t it. It only takes a few seconds for the man to die and she barely made a sound the whole damn time.

“Well shit,” Mac whispers when he sidles up to her.

She just winks at him and continues towards the stairs.

It takes about four seconds for everything to go to shit, which Mac can’t say he didn’t expect. Shitshow seems to generally describe everything they do.

Ripley peeked around the corner, spotting several triggermen. There was very little chance of a successful stealth kill here, much less all of them, so she gives him a little smirk which makes him smile like an idiot, and pulls out a frag grenade. She sends it flying into the center of the room, where the majority of the targets are.

When it lands, three of them glance at it to investigate. Only one even started to process the situation in time.

“Shi-” he started, then  _ BOOM! _

Chairs and tables and a few body parts go flying everywhere. Remaining triggermen start aiming in Mac and Ripley’s general direction. Ripley’s already moving, running from their spot on the stairs to cover behind an overturned couch while Mac covers her. He manages to hit one in the shoulder and another in the knee. 

From her new cover, Ripley throws another grenade. There aren’t many of them left now, and the second grenade sends them running. One of them doesn’t move nearly fast enough. Next thing Mac knows, the poor guy is all over the wall.

Something hits Mac full force, sending him tumbling backwards down the stairs. There’s something around his neck, attempting to cut off his air. 

They hit the wall at the bottom hard and Mac’s assailant is knocked from him. Mac searches desperately around for his pistol. He can’t quite reach his rifle and the guy is trying to get a grip on him again. He can hear gunfire continuing upstairs and he figures that Ripley is a little busy and might not be able to help him in time.

Finally, Mac sees his gun, but the triggerman is on top of him, trying to wrap his hands around his throat again. Mac throws the best punch he can from his position and it catches the guy off guard. Mac grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him to the side, sending the man straight into the wall, then he scrambles for the gun. He barely gets a grip on it in time because the other guy is grabbing at his legs and he’s definitely stronger than him. Mac kicks his legs out, then aims and pulls the trigger.

The bullet hits him right between the eyes and he collapses on top of Mac. He doesn’t even bother moving him off at first, he just lays his head back on the concrete floor and stares at the ceiling. 

It's gone silent upstairs and Ripley’s voice carries down to him. “Mac? You alive down there?”

“I think so,” Mac tilts his head backwards slightly to see her taking the stairs two at a time. “Might just lay here for a second.”

She looks genuinely worried when she pushes the mans body off of him and starts checking him for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a little bruised up, but I’m fine.” Mac sits up and gives her a sideways smile.

She laughs, barely, and sighs, obviously relieved. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Aww, you do care about me!” Mac says sarcastically, earning a small shove.

“Don’t push your luck, hotshot.” She stands and puts out her hand to help him up. He takes it. “We still have two more warehouses to hit and I’d like us to both be alive to get paid when it’s all over.”

~

The other two are shitshows too, but no one falls down the stairs and the only ones who end up with bullets in them are the triggermen. Mac keeps away from stairs as they go, just to be safe. The whole thing goes off without a hitch.

The pair return to the Third Rail rather proud of themselves. Despite being a bit sore, Mac is in a really good mood and Ripley is grinning broadly. Mac suspects that the job well done is only part of the reason for her joy. The other part is the guitar she found in the last warehouse.

It’s old and covered in blood, but it has all six strings and it sounded surprisingly good for being who-knows-how-old. 

“You know how to play that?” Mac had asked when she excitedly picked it up.

She shrugged, “My brother taught me when I was a kid. I’m not good, but I know a few songs.”

After getting their pay, they head to their room at the Rex Hotel. Ripley is immediately on the couch, trying to tune the guitar. It looks frustrating, but she’s still smiling like a little kid on Christmas and it makes Mac happy to see her smiling so much. He wishes she’d smile like that more.

He settles on the bed with the comic book they’d found in another warehouse; his prize. He can’t even bring himself to read it because he keeps looking over at her. She’s oblivious to his staring, fully focused on her task. 

She looks beautiful like this, and a pang of guilt and sadness wash over him. He can’t help but think of Lucy, remembering how pretty he found her. He remembers watching her work, watching her cook and watching her read, just watching her. 

He knows he can’t ever do it again. He can’t ever care for someone that much just to lose them again. No, the only thing that matters now is Duncan. Simone Ripley is a blessing, yes, but he can’t get attached. He returns his eyes to his comic book, trying to ignore the tears beginning to well up in them.

The sounds of the guitar stop, and Mac realises she’s looking at him. 

“You alright?” She looks concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, hoping she doesn’t hear the crack in his voice. 

He’s certain she does, but she doesn’t press any further. He appreciates that about her. She understands that some things just aren’t ready to be shared. God knows she’s shared so little of herself with him.

Instead, she starts to strum a little, evidently done with her tuning. It’s a nice little melody, but Mac doesn’t recognize it.

Mac is surprised when she starts to sing softly. She’s no Magnolia. She lacks the  _ umph _ in Magnolia’s voice. Hers is low and soft, and a bit raspy. Mac likes the sound of it.

_ “I took my love, I took it down, Climbed a mountain and I turned around, And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills,'Til the landslide brought me down. _ ” 

Mac lays his comic book on his chest and focuses on her. 

“ _ Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? _

“ _ Well, I've been 'fraid of changin', 'Cause I've built my life around you, But time makes you bolder, Even children get older, And I'm gettin' older, too. _

_ “Well, I've been 'fraid of changin', 'Cause I've built my life around you, But time makes you bolder, Even children get older, And I'm gettin' older, too. _

“ _ I'm gettin' older, too, Ah, take my love, take it down, Oh, climb a mountain and turn around, And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills, Well, the landslide will bring it down, And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills, Well, the landslide will bring it down, Oh, the landslide will bring it down. _ ”

When she finishes, Mac applauds, smiling. She blushes and looks away.

“That was really nice,” He says, and he means it.

“Thanks,” she put the guitar down. “I’m afraid this guitar will never sound quite right, but I suppose that’s just how it is in the post-apocalyptic world.”

Mac chuckles. “I think it sounded perfect.”

“Well you’ve probably never heard what a good guitar is supposed to sound like.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

~

Mac stirs awake. At first, he isn’t sure if he was woken by his dream or something in the real world. He’d been dreaming of Lucy, but he can’t clearly remember anything but her smile. 

He heard the creek of floorboards near the bed, where Ripley is sleeping.  _ Is someone in the room?  _ Mac’s hand immediately goes to the 10mm he put by his pillow. He squinted into the darkness of the room, trying to see who’s there. 

He vaguely recognizes the shape of the small woman. It’s Ripley, pacing almost silently. Her chest is heaving and he can hear her shallow, quick breathing.

“Ripley?” He speaks into the dark, and she stops and looks at him. He moves from his place on the couch and switches on the lamp. “You alright?”

She looks pale and there are tears running down her face.

“J-just a bad dream,” she mutters. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

Mac ignores her, heading for his pack. “Wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head, which doesn’t entirely surprise him. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey he’d snagged earlier and sits on the ground, leaning against the wall, opening it. He raises his eyebrows at her, takes a swig, then holds it towards her. She sighs and comes and sits down next to him, taking a swig.

They drink in silence for a few minutes. Mac can’t hide the concern he feels for her. He won’t make her talk, especially considering he wasn’t exactly willing to share his pain with her either, but he’d never seen her look so vulnerable. It scares him a little, to see the mighty Simone Ripley look so sad and scared.

He glances at her. A light blush has settled across her cheeks. 

“Better?” He asks. 

She half-laughs, half-sighs. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

She just shrugs. Mac nods. He understood. Sometimes you just don’t know what you need. He certainly has no clue what he needs most of the time. 

They talk about random, not-personal or emotional things until it starts to get light outside, then they decide to try to get a few more hours of sleep before they have to get up. 

There’s a small part of Mac that wants to crawl into the bed near her just so she feels safe. He wants her to always feel safe with him around. That’s why she hired him, after all: to keep her safe. 


End file.
